The Mage's Toy (Aria Afton Presents)
Page 6
But what if this Starret character didn't deserve her either? Who was this man, anyway? No, he had to be the right one. Jennia was still attached to him five years after their betrothal, though what sort of man would ask a girl to marry him and then not come for her?
It was all moot. Magda had ruined Antony for a wife. He'd content himself with friendly girls like Tassie and endless trips around the country selling hedge mage charms until he ran out of magic. Maybe if he scrimped he'd have enough of both money and magic for his old age.
Deep Well was the biggest town before the western border; it overflowed with soldiers and those who catered to them as the troops came home regiment by regiment. "I don't even know where to begin," said Jennia.
"Let's start by getting Dolf and the wagon situated in a decent stable," Antony said, "and then we can start asking around."
The horse and wagon stowed at the Sign of the Oxtail, Jennia and Antony walked into the high street. "What now?" she said. "Where d'you suppose we'd find the Fifth?"
"Our chances will be better if we split up. You take the northeast quarter, I'll go into the markets. I'll see you back at the Oxtail by five. If we don't find him, we'll sweep the next two sectors tomorrow. All right?" Jennia nodded. Antony watched her hurry off in search of her true love, cursed himself and trudged to the market district.
It proved to be fertile ground; many soldiers moved among the stalls and shops, spending their pay. It didn't take long for him to find someone who knew something. "The Fifth?" said a scarred veteran. "They left two weeks ago, down the Westering Road headed east."
"I just came that way and saw no one," said Antony.
The man shrugged. "Then you're blind or they'd already passed by."
"There are the wounded," piped up a smaller man. "The Fifth left a lot of their sick behind. Try the hospital." He pointed up the busy high street to a knoll, on which stood a low, clean-looking building. "Up there."
Antony walked toward the hospital, a growing dread gnawing at his insides. What if he didn't find Starret there? Maybe he could convince Jennia to stay on with him and they could go back toward the east, searching. It'd be a pretense, to be sure, and having her so near and so unattainable would be painful, but not having her near would be worse. Then again, if he did find Starret it would mean the man was wounded. That didn't bode well, either. The man might even be dead.
Antony entered through wide doorways bustling with people into an equally bustling hallway; he found a harried-looking matron and asked if any soldiers from the Fifth were in residence. "Only one left alive," she said, "and him not for long. The ones with lost arms and legs are already on their way home by now." She led him to a set of doors. "In there. Be quiet."
Antony entered a tidy room lined with beds--eight in all. He walked between them to the only occupied one and looked down on a broad-faced young man, so pale he blended into the sheets. Dark blond hair poked out from underneath a white turban of linen bandages. He was so still Antony watched for signs of life until he saw the man's chest rise and fall in shallow breath.
"A head wound, sir," said a voice at his elbow.
Antony turned to find a kind-faced older man in the black coat of a doctor. "Am I correct in assuming this is Starret, er..." He coughed. "I'm afraid I don't know his last name. I'm searching on behalf of his betrothed."
The doctor squinted at him. "That's not much of a story, sir. I should think his betrothed would have told you his full name. If you're a bill collector or some such, you won't have much luck with young Bentam here--Starret Bentam is the name you want, Bentam of the Fifth. He was greatly knocked about in the final battle. His fellows couldn't bear to leave him--I'm told he was a popular man--and so they brought him here." The doctor sighed. "Not much more than a boy, though, is he?"
The man on the bed really was more of a boy; Antony had forgotten just how young Jennia was. If they'd been betrothed at fourteen, that made Jennia and Starret only nineteen. From the lofty heights of age twenty-five, Antony could only see them as children. No, he saw this unfortunate as a child, but not Jennia. "What are his future prospects?"
"He doesn't have a future," said the doctor. "We've done what we can, but we can only do so much. At this point, we're just making him comfortable...and waiting. Are you really searching on behalf of his betrothed?" Antony nodded. "Well, you'd better light her along if she's nearby. This young man may be dead by nightfall." The doctor walked back up between the rows of beds and out the door, leaving Antony alone with the ashen-faced soldier.
He found a stool and pulled it up to the bedside, the better to study his successful rival--if you could call it a rivalry. Antony'd actually married the girl, but her heart belonged to the ashen-skinned man on the bed. Starret's face could have been called handsome and genial but for that concentrated dullness of the dying. The doctor said he'd been popular among his fellows, and Jennia'd sung his praises for days now.
When the soldier finally died, the search would be over, and Jennia would no longer be under obligation to divorce Antony and marry Starret. Perhaps she might be persuaded to stay with him after all? Perhaps, but she'd spend her life mourning her lost love. He had, until Jennia'd come into his life. A stern remonstrance pushed that last thought away; she'd come, but she was meant to go. But if Starret died, what would happen to her? No husband--for Antony wouldn't keep an unwilling girl tethered to him--no Guild membership. And settling in a village as small as 300 people wasn't as easy as it sounded, especially for a single woman. Village life tended to the insular and suspicious of outsiders settling among them. He'd managed to worm his way into the hearts of many a small town, but he carried charms literal and abstract to help him along and he didn't stay. How many villages would she need to comb through before she found one that both needed a weaver and would accept her?
Antony had to somehow persuade Jennia to make their marriage a real one and watch her yearn all their lives together for a dead man, or give up everything to make sure she was both happy and safe. He'd loved someone else so much he'd made a tremendous sacrifice, and look how that turned out. Nevertheless, Antony loved Jennia, enough to let her go and make sure she was happy. It wouldn't be so bad. He had money saved and even had a more-than-full stock of charms left from the cancelled shows at Fairhill. He could sell them among the soldiers here at Deep Well and make more money than in his wanderings, enough to start over in a small town--maybe even Rabny Ford. They'd accepted him there from his days as an itinerant mage in his practicum, and he knew Trompkins would accept an offer for the inn. It would be different than last time; this time he knew what lay ahead.
Antony took Starret's limp, cold hand in his own, closed his eyes and let his last remaining stores of magic fill him. A low rumble issued from his throat, finally bursting through his lips in a stream of ancient words. The magic amplified his voice, though it never rose above a murmur; the air took on a hair-raising electricity that brought the black-coated doctor and several nurses into the ward.
Antony's mind noted them and moved on. By now, the bright ball of his power surrounded him and encompassed the bed. It had been so long since he'd used magic like this, a desperate, triumphant magic that sang in his voice and through his hands. He could think of no more glorious way to burn himself out. He pulled life force from the magic and sent its threads deep into Starret's body, re-weaving his flesh back to health.
When Antony finished, his hands were shaking; sweat poured from him. Two nurses rushed up and supported him to an empty bed. "I'll be all right," he said, brushing them away. "Just bring me a basin of water and something to drink." The basin arrived alongside a mug of small beer. He stripped his top half to the skin, washed, toweled off, sat down on the bed and took huge, grateful gulps from the mug until he reached its bottom.
A stirring across the aisle made him shrug his shirt back on. "What happened?" said a feeble voice. It gained strength. "I was in the thick of it, a Westerner came at me...and then I woke up here. Where am I?"
"You're in Deep Well, son," said the doctor. "What's your name?"
"Starret Bentam."
"Good, good!" grinned the doctor. "You were hit fairly hard on the head, young man. We thought we were going to lose you."
The young soldier examined himself. "But I've never felt better in my life. Thank you, doctor, for your care and skill!"
"I had nothing to do with it," said the black-coated doctor. "It was all your betrothed's friend--a mage. He saved your life with magic, when medicine could do nothing more for you."
"My betrothed?" said Starret, eyes lighting up. "Sir, I thank you with all my heart!" He rose from the bed on unsteady legs and insisted on shaking Antony's hand. "How did you leave her? Is she well?"
Antony tried to smile. "She waits for you at the Sign of the Oxtail. Give her this for me." He disengaged his hands and gave the soldier a purse; inside, safely folded away from Starret's eyes, was Antony's copy of the marriage contract. "It's her share. She'll explain. Tell her goodbye for me. Just...just take care of her. You're the better man and you won fair and square. She loves you and gave up a great deal to be with you." And I have given up more so that you may be with her, he added to himself. Antony turned away and strode out of the ward without a backward glance, though Starret called for him to stay.
Once out of the hospital, Antony never broke stride but marched straight to the stables, taking back streets in hopes of avoiding Jennia. He'd make more money selling his charms to newly-released soldiers, but the chances of seeing her were too high. He'd leave now. It was early in the afternoon; she was not likely to be back at the inn. His dubious luck held, and he had the grumbling, patient Dolf in harness and the wagon outside the city in record time.
Antony pointed Dolf's nose toward Fairhill and leaned back against the wagon's front door frame. His eyes fell on an unfamiliar object hanging on the wall near the neatly stowed bed: a small tapestry of a dark-haired man holding a softly rounded woman who could only be Jennia. It fairly glowed with rich color, its weaving so intricate it looked more like a painting than a tapestry. Where had that come from? He'd think about it later.
Sadness ached in every bone, but Antony's old bitterness had vanished. What a fool he was. He'd sacrificed everything for love not once but twice. He'd spent every night for years with Magda's ghost. Now he would spend them with Jennia's ghost for the rest of his life--but this time, he'd sleep. This time, it was right.
Jennia returned to the Oxtail; she'd found no sign of Starret. Every soldier she met was more interested in chatting her up than talking about the Fifth. All she could find out is that the regiment was already gone--two weeks gone. If that were so, why hadn't Starret come for her at Nuttalston? She should be disappointed. She should be angry. Starret had obviously abandoned her.
Instead, elation fizzed inside her. She'd done everything she could to find him. Were she to come across Starret in later years, she could honestly say she'd tried to find him but in the end had fallen hopelessly in love with Antony Onyx, a traveling mage. She hoped Starret would understand. They'd been children, after all, when they made their promises to one another. He couldn't be surprised that after all this time she'd married another.
Then she remembered what Antony had said to that Tassie woman in Rabny Ford: She'll be gone soon, and I'll be glad of it. The marriage was real to her, but a sham to Antony.
They were free of the Guilds now. If Antony brought Starret to her, she'd tell her old sweetheart she'd changed her mind and didn't want to marry anyone. Then she'd give Antony her copy of the marriage contract to burn and they'd go their own ways. Maybe she could get Starret to accompany her for a while as she searched for a place to settle. Or maybe she'd just stay in Deep Well and find a job working for a weaver: spinning, dyeing, finishing cloth--shopgirl if need be. Such a come-down from her career path as master weaver, but it wouldn't add any more to her misery.
Jennia settled her tired body at a corner table in the Oxtail's pleasant taproom and ordered a mug of porter; she could use something strengthening. The serving girl brought it and a plate of cheese, cured sausage and pickles, but before Jennia could even take a sip, Starret walked through the door. He'd changed a great deal from when she'd seen him last, but paradoxically still looked the same; though he was taller and broader, his blue eyes were just as merry as they'd been in his boyhood.
She always thought that when she saw him her heart would break into song and flower, fairy lights would dance around his handsome face, and she would be perfectly happy once again. Indeed, he had a look of similar anticipation as his eyes scanned the taproom. But when they fell on her, neither song nor flower burst from her heart, and Starret gazed on her not with an outpouring of love but of confusion.
He shook his blond head as if to clear it and marched up to her table. "What are you doing here?"
"What? Looking for you! Where's Antony?" she cried.
"Antony Onyx? You know him? He's the one who saved my life! But where's Ceelia? He said she'd be here."
"Who's Ceelia?" Jennia said, her apprehension growing.
"My betrothed. He said to meet her here at five, that he had this for her." Starret hefted a familiar purse.
"That's mine!" she exclaimed. "Starret, he was talking about me!"
Starret sat down ordered his own mug of porter. "Apparently Mage Onyx didn't heal my head all the way, because I'm completely confused. Start at the beginning."
As they ate and drank in hurried gulps and bites, Jennia told him how she'd ended up far from Nuttalston in the company of a mage, her apprenticeship abandoned and all her hopes pinned on marriage to Starret. "You and I've been promised since we were fourteen, I didn't know what else to do and I just assumed...but here's my problem. I'm sorry. I do love you--we've known one another since we could walk!--but I don't want to marry you any more. Actually, I'm already married to Antony."
"Well, that's grand, Jen! My heartiest congratulations to you both, he's a wonderful man! Myself, I'm engaged to the grandest girl. Ceelia, my commander's oldest daughter. She's the most beautiful, dainty little thing, I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. I hope you'll meet her some day soon--you'll come to the wedding, of course! Don't worry about me, I never took our betrothal seriously, silly girl, we were only fourteen--children."
"Didn't take it seriously? I took it seriously!" Jennia cried, stung.
"So seriously you married someone else?" he retorted.
"I had to! It wasn't because I wanted to. No, I did want to. Oh, Starret, what'll I do, I'm in love with him and he doesn't love me!"
"I should think he loves you quite a bit judging by that purse, and by what he said to me."
Jennia dug in the purse. Antony had given her a sizable chunk of their earnings, far more than he'd promised. At the bottom, her fingers touched paper; she pulled out his copy of the marriage contract. "What did he say to you?" she whispered.
"Very confusing things. First he healed me--the doctor said I was dying--and then he gave me this purse, said the better man had won, and that I was to take care of you for him."
"He healed you?" Jennia shrieked.
"Pipe down, people are staring! That's what I said, isn't it? He used his magic and healed me."
Jennia stared at him through welling eyes. "That was the last of his magic, Starret. It had to have been."
"But he can't be above thirty," said the soldier.
She saw it all at once. "When did he say he'd be back?"
"I don't think he's coming back. He said to say goodbye to you. I thought he was talking about Ceelia."
Jennia pawed through the money in the purse for enough to pay the bill and threw the coins on the table. "That
should cover it. Antony already paid for our rooms through tomorrow night. You're welcome to them now that you're better."
"Where are you going--why do people keep running away from me while I'm trying to talk to them?" complained Starret.
Jennia sprinted for the stables, her childhood friend on her heels. As she suspected, Dolf and the wagon were gone. "About three hours ago, ma'am," said the ostler.
"How much to rent a horse?" she said.
"Are you going after him?" said Starret.
"I have to. He's done a foolish, foolish thing--oh," she said, putting a hand on Starret's smooth cheek. "No, not foolish in that you're alive, I'm so very glad you're alive, but he did it for my sake, don't you see? I have to find him."
"I'm coming with you. I'll lead your horse back once you've found him."
Jennia stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. "You were always a good 'un, Starret Bentam, and Ceelia's lucky to have you. Now let's go. I have a feeling I know where he is."
Chapter Seven: A Beginning
Antony woke up from a light doze; the rocking motion of the wagon had stopped, and they were no longer on the road. A green, pleasant forest surrounded them. "Dolf! Hey, dolt of a horse, this isn't the road to Fairhill! Where'd you cart us off to?" The bright wagon rested in an open patch off a familiar little path; the big animal calmly looked over his shoulder, chewing a meditative mouthful of grass. Before him in the deep shade stood a carving of a laughing, bearded man brandishing his enormous, jutting phallus.
It was as Antony feared. Dolf had taken them to the Wood God's shrine. "Thanks a lot. I never wanted to see this place again," he grumbled, giving the horse a little swat on the haunches as he climbed down from the wagon. Antony stretched and looked up at the sky. Still an hour before dark. Perhaps it was best to stop here for the night. He'd be undisturbed. The Wood God's Wife should leave him alone; he'd been respectful of Her gifts, and of Jennia, too. He'd kept his word to her, done the best he could by her--he'd let her go, the kindest thing of all he could have done. The Lady Wife couldn't be angry. Even so, he hedged his bets and put two silvers in the Wood God's cupped hands.